Keeping a Promise
by lauren2381
Summary: Gathering up all his might, Clay hurled himself in his mind, desperately banging his hands on anything he could reach. I don't want to be here anymore! Please someone, let me out! Let me out! Get me out of here!


If there is one place that Clay Spenser knows well, it's a hospital room. The vague smell of antiseptic and constant beeping noises are almost soothing to him at this point, they meant that he was safe and free from whatever had landed him in the hospital in the first place. Even if that was his own stupidity.

He knew where he was, knew who he was, and hell, even sort of remembered how he got to the hospital, but he couldn't move. His muscles were rigid like stone, eyelids pressed firmly shut and no amount of banging on the walls of his mind would force them to open. Pacing in the small confines of his mind, Clay tried to scheme a way to get out but there was nothing to do but lie back and wait; to heal, to stop getting medicated, to finally catch up on the sleep that he was missing. Clay was never the most patient person, but this was kinda nice. If his mind was a cage, then Clay would gladly be trapped for a little while, because no one was trying to hurt him here.

It was quiet and peaceful, there were no explosions, no gunshots, no helo jumps. It was blissful and for once, Clay didn't have a problem with the silence. The pillow beneath his head was soft and the blankets were tucked just right around his shoulders and if he breathed deeply, he could almost make out a sweet scent that tickled just below his nose.

He was warm, comfortable, safe.

There was no reason to move yet, so he wouldn't.

Clay didn't know how many days were passing in the soft cocoon in his mind, the only way that he could distinguish day from night was the sound of the voices around him. The morning nurse was tough, a dark voice that didn't mesh with her soft hands that fussed with the IV port and washed him gently. The night nurse that sang as he worked, everything from R&B to bubble gum pop. There was even one song that Clay wished he would sing from start to finish, if only so he could get the chorus out of his mind. There wasn't enough room for extraneous thoughts to rattle around in there, at times there was barely enough room for Clay and his thoughts.

After a few days (he thinks) of only hearing from the nurses and the doctors that come to round, he gets his first visitor.

And it's the sound of a well-rehearsed sigh that lets him know who it is; Davis.

She's the only one that could manage to be exasperated at him but at the same time sound like she wants to wrap him up in a hug, sweat, mud, gear, and all.

"Hi Clay"

Clay opened his mouth only to remember that he couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't do anything. Well that sucked.

"The boys are on their way back home, they finished the OP."

They went on an OP without him? Just how long had he been lying on this bed? Had it been weeks already? Was there another brother ready to replace him that quickly?

"They found the sonuvabitch that did this to you, and you'd be real proud of Sonny. The man showed more restraint than I think I've ever seen from him, only hit the guy once."

Ha! Sonny? Restrained? That was an oxymoron. Clay didn't think that the man knew the first thing about restraint when it came to missions. He was a shoot first and ask questions later type of man.

Though if he was in the mood for some revenge… he could have more patience than a snake watching their prey. But that version of Sonny was rare, he only came out when someone was threatened. Clay wondered to himself what could have possibly brought about that response, hopefully his brothers were ok.

"They're all in such a rush to get back here to ya that Sonny even volunteered to take a shortcut through the _jungle_ to get on a faster transport."

Now Clay knows that she's stretching the truth. He can't picture Sonny Quinn willingly trekking through a jungle if there was another option, but as he sat and listened to Davis recount the tale, he could picture it in his mind. The boys were sweaty and dirty, Jason probably glaring at anything that moved and Sonny would have his machine gun pressed firmly against his shoulder, ready to shoot at a moment's notice. They would move as one with Cerb and Brock at the front and Ray at the rear. Trent is somewhere in the middle, either calming Sonny or cutting through the thick brush of the jungle. It was a formation that they had used time and time again and it was perfect, except he wasn't there to round out the back with Ray.

Clay was still in the same hospital bed, in the same gown, trapped in the same mind.

If only he could open his eyes, he'd be able to ensure that Sonny had at least one freak out over a bug and that Trent would have something to fuss over, namely him. But he was stuck inside his own mind and no one knew that he could hear every word.

Davis didn't talk for very much longer, but she takes the time to smooth back the curls that he knows are matted against his forehead. Clay never put much stock into what Davis's hands felt like, that was more Sonny's department. But they were warm, and soft. She smelled nice, but it wasn't the sweet scent that he was used to smelling.

That scent came in the afternoons and lingered until the next morning, wrapping him in its warm embrace. Clay could never figure out who the scent belonged to, but every time he caught a whiff of it in his mind, he relaxed. Clay hoped that whoever it was would come again.

Just as Davis was smoothing his blankets, his finger twitched and he cheered. Finally! He was getting somewhere. Banging on the doors of his mind, Clay urged his body to move more, but it never obeyed and the comforting presence of Davis left his side.

And once again, Clay was alone. Trapped in his own little corner.

Clay loses track of how many days he's spent in his mind, no one new or exciting comes to visit and the voices become a blur. He can start to feel things though, which he's taking as a win. There's a pounding in his ears and he swears that he can feel that pounding all the way down to his toes. But it wasn't there before, it has to mean that he's getting better.

One step closer to getting out.

That was another change. While his mind is comforting and warm and safe, it doesn't have his brothers. There was no joking around or threats of buying yet another case of beer. It was eerily silent at all times and it wasn't fun anymore. He wanted out and he wanted out _right now_.

But no matter how many times he commanded himself to move, his body would not obey. There was a brief period of time when Clay thought that maybe he couldn't move because he was paralyzed and the panic that ensued actually caused the nurses to come running into the room. More medications were pushed through his IV and more doctors came by, each speaking in terms that he couldn't hope to understand.

Why wasn't Trent with them? He always knew that he needed to dumb down any medical mumbo jumbo into something that he could actually understand. And where was Sonny? Had his brothers really abandoned him that quickly in favor of a new brother?

Clay paced back and forth in his mind, he needed to get out.

Not even that sweet comforting scent would soothe him now. He needed his brothers.

The next visitor was Naima. Sweet, maternal, fierce Naima.

"Hi Clay, I know you're hurting in there but at this point it's a little ridiculous."

And there it was, the no nonsense, do-what-you're-told voice that Clay had come to accept was part and parcel of Naima Perry. And when she used that voice with you, you had better obey and do it quickly, or else.

"The kids made you a card, their version of a get well soon gift. Though I don't think that you'd appreciate the level of glitter and glue they used. It's the thought that counts, right?"

Clay loved when Jameelah included him in her arts and crafts. It was always a gamble to see if the paint or glitter or glue ended up on the little girl or on the project, but somehow she made everything fun. He'd bet that she had used the pretty blue glitter that he had gotten for her and drew the two of them at the park. That girl loved to swing and whenever he had a free moment, he would take her to the park and leave RJ at home. Hopefully he would get to swing with her soon.

"I think that girl is finally warming up to RJ, I found the two of them walking together in the living room the other day. Well, more like Jameelah had RJ on his feet and was trying to help him walk, it's gonna be any day now."

Well it was about time that the kid was mobile, he had been 'getting there' for the last two weeks. Clay was supposed to help Ray figure out how to teach the kid how to walk but instead he's laying on his ass in the same stupid hospital bed and life is moving on around him.

Without him, really.

He was really looking forward to the day when RJ learned how to run and jump and play and when he was a little older, he'd teach him how to play soccer. One of the few games that they had when he was a kid was an old soccer ball that they used and abused. Pick up games were common in the orphanage where his grandparents worked and it taught him teamwork and and a way to exercise. He loved the game and was hoping that one day RJ would too.

Now he just had to figure out how to get out of his own head.

Gathering up all his might, Clay hurled himself in his mind, desperately banging his hands on anything he could reach. _I don't want to be here anymore! Please someone, let me out! Let me out! Get me out of here!_

But of course, no one can read minds.

Not even Trent.

"Clay? Are you in pain?"

Clay can hear the rustling of Naima by his head and he longs to reach out and grab her hand. He's not in pain, please don't push that button. It makes his head swim and if he can't think there's no shot in hell that he has even a slight chance of getting out of this prison. _Please, don't push the button!_

"I got it Clay, just relax."

And even though he was pleading with her not to press the button, the faint click of the machine and dizzy fog overcame him once more.

He had to get out of this place.

The next time that Clay's aware that he has a visitor, she brought that sweet scent with her; it floats over her skin and envelopes the room. Clay knows this scent and knows the girl that it belongs to, but why couldn't he hear her? She never spoke, and the only way that Clay even knew that she was there was the feeling of emptiness when she left.

Over and over again, Clay listened to Emma's steady breathing. It never faltered and it was a comforting sound in the presence of all of the random beeping and voices that weren't familiar. She was familiar, she was constant, she wouldn't leave him. As he counted her breaths, the pattern of them changed. She normally averaged seventeen breaths in one minute, then in the next moment, she was at twenty two. Straining, Clay listened and heard the faint sniffling and his heart shattered into a million tiny pieces.

She was crying.

He needed to wake up now, this had gone on long enough.

"Clay honey, I don't know if you can hear me in there, but please. Come back home to me. _Please_ babe. Just come back to me"

Emma sounded horrible, her voice was wavering and rusty, as if she hadn't spoken in weeks and when she climbed into the hospital bed next to him, he could feel her thin torso resting against his, each rib palpable. Hot tears were being absorbed by the thin cotton of his hospital gown and Clay raged at himself. This wasn't how this was supposed to happen!

Right when the started dating after that horrible day when they lost Adam, Clay promised her that he would always come back, and that he would do his best to not come home in a box. Well, he's home, but he didn't come back to her.

Instead he's lying in this _stupid _bed in his _stupid _gown in his _stupid_ head.

No, not anymore. It's time to make good on his promise. He wasn't like Ash who promised things that he could never deliver. He was Clay Spenser and he was coming home. Gathering all of his strength, Clay focuses on moving the hand that's closest to Emma's.

For a few agonising minutes, nothing happens. No twitch, no finger curl, nothing. But just as he's about to give up, it works.

He moves his hand.

He's back.

"Clay? Was that you?"

Emma's voice sounded so hopeful, and for a brief minute he thought about trying to speak. In reality, he didn't have the energy to try and move his mouth in coherent sentences at the moment, but he moved his hand, purposefully, to rest on hers. It would have to be enough for the moment.

"Oh thank God, Clay, I'm right here with you. Don't move ok? I'm going to get Trent."

_No please don't leave me, I'm right here with you!_

He must have made some sort of noise, because he never feels Emma leave his side. Digging deep, Clay found the strength to open his eyes. He was in a hospital bed, Emma was snuggled up beside him, and there was a faint beeping that he was certain that he had heard before.

"Don't try and talk babe, everyone's on their way. This has been the longest week, don't you ever do that to me again, you hear?"

Clay closed his eyes. It had only been a week, yet it felt like a year. If that was what a week felt like being trapped in his own head, Clay didn't want to know what another week would have felt like, or hell even another day.

But that was over now.

He kept his promise.

And like he promised, he would always come back to Emma, it just might take a little bit of time to get there.


End file.
